


Sunday Brunch

by BaggerHeda



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Brunch, Canadian Drunk Food, F/F, Kitchen Sex, Lesbian Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Really there is no plot, Smut, They just have sex, They like to have sex, because of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 07:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14515062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaggerHeda/pseuds/BaggerHeda
Summary: The rich savory smell of it filled the kitchen, and itlookedentirely delicious, as well; Nicole hoped it would taste good, too. “Here we go, our impromptu feast.”“Fork, please,” said Waverly, and Nicole dug a couple out of the drawer and passed her one. “Thanks. So were you really going to bring me poutine in bed for Sunday brunch?”“Better,” said Nicole. She leaned in and said, “I was going to feed you poutine in bed, bite by bite. In thesexiestway possible.”*****This story is for the Cards Against Purgatory/Cards Against WayHaught crew. They wanted #TantricPoutineBrunch, and #TantricPoutineBrunch they shall have. Be warned. This story is silly, and sexy, and may be covered in delicious brown gravy.





	Sunday Brunch

Nicole heard Waverly before she saw her, heard her light steps coming down the stairs, so she wasn’t surprised when she appeared in the kitchen doorway, running her fingers through tousled hair. A quick thrill of _there she is, there’s my girl_ ran through Nicole. Waverly stood paused a moment, just watching with a little smile playing on her lips, and when Nicole turned back to the stove she came up behind her and snaked her arms around her waist, pressed the side of her face flat to Nicole’s back, leaning lightly against her. “Hey, baby. Good morning.”

“Good morning, sweetie. You’re up.” Nicole hummed happily, enjoying the slow sway of Waverly’s body against hers. They stayed like that for a while, warm and close, Nicole feeling the affection swell in her heart. When she had woken up that morning, Waverly had been sleeping soundly. Nicole had chosen to let her rest, had lingered quietly at the bedside for several minutes, adoring that beautiful sunshine face while it was calm in slack repose, before finally rising and beginning her day. That had been a while ago. “Did we wake you? We were trying to be quiet.”

“We? Who’s we?” asked Waverly, muffled because she was speaking into the loose fabric of Nicole’s old hoodie, and _sleepysexyperfect god she’s adorable_ went tripping through Nicole’s mind.

“Uh, you know Nancy, from three houses down? Her dog Jake got loose and went missing for a couple of days, and I helped her get him back. She wanted to bring something over as a thank you,” said Nicole, stirring a saucepan with a slender stainless-steel whisk. “She left about fifteen, twenty minutes ago.”

“Mrs. Minsky? She makes the _best_ sugar cookies,” said Waverly. “No, that wasn’t what woke me, I don’t think. I just - woke up. And missed you.” By now Waverly had unwound the arms that encircled Nicole’s waist, had begun tracing meandering shapes across the flat of her belly and skirting the edge of the waistband of her boxers, slung low on her hips. Around, and around, and around. Nicole listened to the steady breathing behind her, and the increasing pace of her own heart. Waverly paused, her fingertips hovering. “Wait. Why don’t you have pants on? Were you showing Mrs. Minsky your boxers?”

Nicole snorted at the ridiculousness of the question, as Waverly giggled behind her. “No,” she said deliberately, “it’s Sunday. I put my pants _on_ to talk to her, and took them _off_ after she left.”

Waverly had resumed the motion of her fingers, bringing tingling heat and making her breath catch, and Nicole thought she was deliberately trying to tease a response, and it was certainly working. She concentrated on the delicate touch of the hands that were trailing across her skin, forcing herself to keep from twisting away from it. Waverly’s fingertips were riding the fine line between ticklish and electric arousal, and Nicole bit back a groan, feeling the shudder race through her abdomen as her muscles jumped and twitched. Waverly tilted her face up, her voice low and sultry near Nicole’s ear. “Anyway, I missed you a lot.”

“God, Waverly,” growled Nicole, tipping her chin back. Waverly could wake the insistent heat that curled into her belly without even trying but here - now - she was _trying._ Oh lord was she trying. Nicole’s whole body hummed with it, all at once helpless. It was like some kind of fucking magic trick, like plucking a giant bouquet out of thin air: Waverly could make Ravenously Horny Nicole suddenly appear out of nowhere, all the while smiling a magician’s self-satisfied smile at pulling off her greatest feat as Nicole shuddered with need.

“Come back to bed, baby,” said Waverly, a rumbly croon. The sway of her hips against Nicole’s backside was _convincing,_ to say the least.

“No … this … I gotta …” said Nicole, gesturing ineffectually at the cooktop, before she could take no more of those maddening too-soft, not-soft-enough fingers in motion. “Jesus, Waves! Go harder, or stop. Not in between.”

“I can go harder,” said Waverly. Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of the boxers and traveled down, unerring, sliding into wetness between Nicole’s legs.

_“Fuck,”_ exploded from Nicole’s mouth, as the shock of the sensation went coursing through her in an instant. She would swear it was like light passing through her body, every muscle limned with raw desire, and her trajectory was set. Like a rock thrown, she had no way of calling it back, no choice but to follow the path already determined by the force that propelled her until this energy was used up. But not here, not like this, it wasn’t safe. “No, Waves,” she gasped out, “no, uh, hot stove …”

“Turn it off, can you turn it off,” said Waverly, her body moulding all along Nicole’s spine, her fingers working in tight, slow circles, making Nicole’s knees shake.

Nicole snapped off the flame, moved the pan to a back burner and clacked a lid on it, then turned around in Waverly’s arms and promptly forgot everything about the stovetop, as she leaned down into a hard kiss, her tongue sliding thick and wet to part Waverly’s lips, her hands tangling rough into long hair. One thigh slid between Waverly’s, strong limbs in motion against each other, seeking pleasure in their sleek work.

Waverly surged into the kiss in response, eager. The change of position had swept her fingers away from their goal, at least for a time, and now her hands wandered, greedy and mindless, touching and grasping Nicole wherever they could reach. Waverly’s hands snaked under Nicole’s sweatshirt, fingernails scratching light and brief across Nicole’s back before one hand slid forward and up to press and knead against her breast, and Nicole groaned and arched into it, the feeling of Waverly’s palm crossing her hardening nipple exquisite. Her other hand dropped down to the small of Nicole’s back, serving as leverage to grind their hips closer.

The two of them stumbled out of the kitchen together, made it as far as the couch.

Waverly fell to sitting, Nicole tumbling down after her to perch straddling Waverly’s lap, her knees digging in at either side of Waverly’s ass, her hips circling as her body undulated, rising and falling in the frenzy blossoming through her. Nicole ripped off her hoodie and flung it aside, heedless of where it ended up. Waverly’s hands were everywhere, sliding across heated skin, making her dizzy, making her wonder how much desire any one body could hold. “Waves,” she groaned, an incantation. “Waves,” as Waverly’s warm mouth closed over her breast, play and suck and stroke, the tongue a delightful swirl against her nipple, aching to the touch now. “Oh god, Waves,” while Waverly’s fingers tangled into her hair, or clutched at her thighs, or curled into the sensitive space below her jaw, or bit fine and sharp against the flesh of her ribs, tugging her close. “Oh god. Waves, I need it, oh god.”

“Yes. Yes. I know, I know,” panted Waverly into her body. Still, Waverly was making her wait, as Nicole’s own hands traveled across Waverly’s back, clawed for purchase against those fine shoulders. Their bodies rippled together; to Nicole it felt like a crackle of rough energy, unloosed and cascading between them, an endless building roar. Waverly’s robe had fallen open (by accident or design, Nicole couldn’t say) and skin pressed against skin, sending her spiraling higher, the desperate need of her body overwhelming all.

“Please,” Nicole whimpered. “Waves, please, inside, I need you inside me.” Waverly’s hand had finally slipped beneath again, the battered old boxers barely an impediment, the delicate fingers spreading her, exploring, testing.

“Jesus,” breathed Waverly, eyes rising to meet Nicole’s. Nicole sucked in a sharp breath at the awe she saw shining there.

“That’s you, babe,” husked out Nicole, and then Waverly was slipping in, began a slow pulse of a rhythm, deep and strong. Nicole felt her entire body shiver in ecstatic response, like every fiber infused with joy, and her back stretched and her muscles flexed as she made ready to throw herself into the ride.

“So wet,” said Waverly, a raspy whisper, smiling between her breasts. Her other hand was still tracing lines of delicious fire along the arc of Nicole’s back, across the curve of her ass. “Go on.”

“Uhhn, yeah,” groaned Nicole, her torso sliding against sweat-slicked skin, her body swaying, rise and fall as her muscles worked, as Waverly curled deep. The pleasure was a strong and steady thing galloping between them, and Nicole rode fast and hard, chanting out _ah, ah, yeah_ and Waverly grunting in response, soaring up and up to shattering heights. When Nicole came it was with a great shout, “Wav- , AHH,” and then she sagged down all at once, like a racer breaking the ribbon, entirely spent.

Waverly held on, one hand sliding gently away as the other petted and stroked her hair, and Nicole rested her forehead on Waverly’s shoulder, waiting for her body to still and her breathing to calm. It was only a little while until she lifted, came back up to kneeling, and murmured, “Jeez, how you get me going.”

“I kinda really like you like that,” said Waverly, her eyes aglow. “When you just totally go for it.”

Nicole laughed in agreement, feeling the energy still moving through her veins, now warm and sluggish and content. “Hmm, and you? We can stay here, or we can go upstairs.”

“We’re not stopping,” said Waverly, “but I do want to call a little break.”

“Really?” said Nicole, surprise lifting her voice to a squeak.

“Honestly? I am also super starving, that’s the other reason I came downstairs.” Waverly wiggled her eyebrows, the _save it for later, please_ implicit. “What where you making earlier?” She gave a tiny push to the middle of Nicole’s chest, a request for her to move, and Nicole did, rolling off of her lap. She sat for a second, then gathered herself and stood, stretching. _Good, not too wobbly._

“You mean before my plans got changed?” Nicole said. “Breakfast. Well, I guess it’s a bit late, more like brunch. I was making something for you, was going to bring it to you in bed.” She extended a hand to Waverly, hauling her up and off the couch, using the motion as an excuse to pull that slender body tight to hers, hip to hip.

“I’m sorry,” said Waverly, obviously not sorry in the least.

“Mmhmm, I bet,” said Nicole, as she dropped a kiss to Waverly’s neck before letting go, finding her sweatshirt and putting it back on, stepping back toward the kitchen, Waverly following her. Nicole retrieved her saucepan, set it on a low flame, gave it a stir with the whisk before leaving it uncovered. “Remember I said Nancy had dropped by with something earlier?”

“Uh huh, you said - wait.” Waverly came to a full halt, Nicole studying her with interest, because _holy shit._ There were some rapid calculations going on behind those hazel-green eyes, and watching Waverly figure out something was another one of Nicole’s favorite things. That brilliant, agile mind was deducing _something_ and Nicole waited, wondering how many clues Waverly would need to figure out the puzzle. “So. Mrs. Minsky didn’t bring you sugar cookies, did she.”

“Nope,” said Nicole.

“Is that, what, soup? Stew?” asked Waverly, gesturing at the little saucepan.

“Nope,” said Nicole.

“Nope,” echoed Waverly, “too small. So what did she bring you?”

A tiny smile lifted the corner of her mouth as Nicole tried to keep the shit-eating grin off her face. “Well, you know how she is. She went on a bit of a cheesemaking binge last night.”

“She brought you … cheese? Fresh cheese?” Waverly’s eyes widened with excitement. “Wait. Mrs. Minsky brought you _squeaky curds?”_

“Yup,” said Nicole, the grin unstoppable now.

“And you’re making _gravy?”_ squealed Waverly, and she gave a full-body wiggle, which Nicole found completely adorable. “How’re you the _best_ girlfriend in, like, the history of ever?”

“So here’s what you can do,” said Nicole. “I heard about some fancypants restaurant that uses tots instead of frites, so we’re having tots. They’re ready, warming in the oven here,” she indicated with her hip, “so could you plate ‘em up for us, please?”

Waverly got some plates down from the cupboard. “We’re having poutine, we’re having poutine,” she singsonged happily. She piled up a couple of modest heaps of piping hot tater tots, setting the plates on the counter as Nicole brought over the container of fresh cheese curds. And _god,_ thought Nicole, if a homemade version of Canada’s best drunk food made Waverly this happy, she would move heaven and earth to make it happen as often as Waverly wanted. She couldn’t stop smiling as she watched her girlfriend dance a little dance around the kitchen, a circuit around the table that ended with a twirl directly in front of her, and Waverly snatched a morsel of curds from the tub and popped it in her mouth. “Oh, that’s good,” she murmured.

“I know, right?” said Nicole. She crumbled the curds over the potatoes, then ladled the gravy over it, the heat of the tots and the brown viscous sauce turning the cheese just the right amount of gooey. The rich savory smell of it filled the kitchen, and it _looked_ entirely delicious, as well; Nicole hoped it would taste good, too. “Here we go, our impromptu feast.”

“Fork, please,” said Waverly, and Nicole dug a couple out of the drawer and passed her one. “Thanks. So were you really going to bring me poutine in bed for Sunday brunch?”

“Better,” said Nicole. She leaned in and said, “I was going to feed you poutine in bed, bite by bite. In the _sexiest_ way possible.”

“Oh, my,” sighed Waverly. “Sounds messy. And kinky. Now I am kinda sorry I got up.”

“No, you’re not,” laughed Nicole.

“When you say something like that, uh, _yeah_ I am,” retorted Waverly.

“You’re the one who came down here and got all up in my undershorts while I was making you a special treat,” said Nicole with a smirk. “And I regret nothing. I don’t know what _you_ are talking about.” Nicole was determined, now, to rile up Waverly just as far as she could. Maybe as a bit of payback. Maybe because it was fun. Or maybe because Waverly looked really, really good with her robe hanging halfway open, and Nicole wanted to run her tongue along those sleek abs until Waverly was begging her for more.

“I couldn’t help myself,” grinned Waverly, “it was the sexy, sexy boxers,” and they both laughed, because Nicole’s boxers were covered with cartoon pictures of a teddy bear riding a motorcycle, and decidedly not sexy in any way. Taking her first bite, she hummed happily. “Oh, yeah, that’s good.”

“It’s not too late, baby. Close your eyes,” purred Nicole.

“Close my eyes?” said Waverly, digging in to the dish with gusto. “What, so you can feed me poutine in your kitchen?”

“Yeah, like 9-½ Weeks,” said Nicole. “Well, maybe lesbian Canadian 9-½ Weeks,” she added. “More poutine, and 100% less Mickey Rourke.”

Waverly just snort-laughed at that, but then she agreed with a grin. “Okay.” She set her plate aside.

Nicole totally caught Waverly looking out from under her lowered eyelids on the next bite. “No fair. You’re peeking.”

“I’m afraid I’ll make a mess,” said Waverly.

“I’m afraid you need a blindfold,” said Nicole. Reaching over to where her discarded pants were hanging neatly over a kitchen chair, she pulled a bandana out of the pocket with a flourish.

Waverly huffed, indignant. “Nicole Haught, you are _not_ blindfolding me with your snotrag! That’s gross.”

Nicole wasn’t sure whether or not she should be offended. Because, _ew,_ it’s not like she would ever do something like that … but it was sort of funny. “It is _not_ my snotrag. This bandana is clean, I’ll have you know. I just got it out of the drawer this morning.”

“I don’t care,” said Waverly. “It isn’t sexy.”

“Ssh, baby,” said Nicole. “I’d like you to try it.” She folded the cotton square a few times, and as she lifted it to tie around Waverly’s head, she dropped her voice to the honey-sweet tone she knew made Waverly wet, saying, “Your hands are free, you can take this off if you want to. But I would really, _really_ like you to leave it on.” She exhaled, breathing near Waverly’s ear, saying at her silkiest, “Okay?”

“Okay,” husked Waverly.

Setting firm hands on Waverly’s waist, Nicole lifted her from where she’d been leaning against the counter, and with a one-eighty spin, deposited her to sit on the edge of the kitchen table, Waverly letting out a little squeaked _whoops!_ as she was moved, her fingers finding the edge of the table and curling into a tight grip. Nicole knew how disorienting it was to be moved when blindfolded, which was her intent, and now she leaned in again, reasserting herself as Waverly’s focus, as their bodies brushed together. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” she crooned.

“Frikkin’ hell,” whispered Waverly.

Nicole’s hands drifted across the front of Waverly’s chest, tracing lightly over her collarbones, before pushing the robe back and off her shoulders. Waverly shuddered, her response heightened with her eyes being covered. Nicole watched her closely: the chin lifted in slight defiance, the head turning so slowly left and right. “Don’t worry about getting messy. If there’s a mess, I promise, I promise I will clean it up.” After Waverly’s nod, Nicole continued, “So, are you ready?”

That first bite, Nicole had already abandoned the silverware, opting instead to feed Waverly with her fingertips. And _oh god,_ it was entirely worth it. The way the tip of Waverly’s tongue, pink and curious, searched into the narrow space between her open lips until it discovered the proffered food. The way her lips closed gently around Nicole’s fingers. The way her teeth delicately plucked the morsel free and took it, and her mouth sucked Nicole’s fingers clean of the remnants. Nicole suddenly had an intense appreciation for just how wonderful Waverly’s mouth was.

Waverly spoke, her voice all heat and gravel. “I take it back. This is really fucking sexy.”

The second bite, after Waverly again delicately accepted the bite and consumed it, Nicole followed with her own mouth. Waverly granted entrance as her tongue gently pressed forward, and Nicole tasted all the tang and savor and richness as their mouths mingled. That was enough to make her heart hammer.

The third bite, Nicole deliberately dragged across Waverly’s chin and lips before Waverly’s mouth could locate it, and as Waverly was about to object, Nicole’s mouth was sucking her clean, her tongue stroking broad and wide as Waverly arched into the sensation, a small moan escaping her.

The next bite, Nicole would not say if it was on purpose or not, managed to partly find its way to Waverly’s chest. Nicole was diligent on cleaning up every bit that had ended up between her breasts, Waverly wiggling under her searching tongue.

More bites, more body parts getting involved, until Nicole pushed the dish away (poutine, even poutine involved in a sexy game, isn’t any good after it cools off.) She didn’t need the excuse any longer. Her mouth and her tongue ranged all over Waverly’s body, deliberate and excruciatingly slow, lapping against her thighs and sucking along the edge of her hips, stroking wet across the planes of her belly and nuzzling along the lines of her throat, as Waverly sighed and moaned and pleaded.

Nicole was determined to taste every inch of that lovely body, though, and she took her time, savoring the journey, and the tension of taut muscles under the press of her lips. When she was at last between Waverly’s legs, Waverly laid back against the table, still blindfolded, groaning loud and threading insistent fingers into red hair, and Nicole breathed in the sweetsharp heady arousal and revelled in the slick that painted her chin, even then, she was unhurried. Her tongue probed and slid, coaxing Waverly along, floating into some sort of otherworld where the sole importance was this single eternal moment of pleasure between them.

Nicole felt the roll of Waverly’s hips beneath her hands, felt the silk wet that gathered on her tongue and swirled through her mouth like magic. The shudder and sigh, the rise of Waverly was what moved the blood in her body and filled her lungs, and Nicole lost herself in it, sunk deep and enraptured, giving herself over to the greatest paradise she knew.

Nothing else existed. There was only Waverly, and the way their bodies could move together. Only that, and her mouth and her tongue and her hands and her fingers, and what she could do with them, to prolong the moment, draw it into forever.

Nicole was sailing, sailing with Waverly as her strong north star, tasting the heights of her climax and the warmth as she slipped back down and readied for more. She pushed on into the sway of it, willing them further, willing Waverly higher, again and again. The ebb and flow of pleasure swept through them, and they rode it, the rise and fall an endless cycle, just fucking and fucking forever.

It felt like maybe a year and a day later, when she came aware that they were still, even though she couldn’t actually remember stopping.

Well. She wasn’t asleep, couldn’t have fallen asleep in this position, she was still on her feet with her upper body draped over Waverly, who was still sprawled on the kitchen table. Maybe she’d drifted for a microsecond, that’s why it felt like waking up. _Jesus_ her fingers were still inside her.

“Baby?” Waverly’s voice came distant and hazy. “Were we doing that for hours?”

“I … don’t know,” said Nicole. It sure felt like it. She’d lost her sweatshirt again, somewhere in the middle of all of it, who knew where it had ended up this time. Waverly had discarded the blindfold, as well. Oh wait, there was the sweatshirt - crumpled under Waverly’s head as a rough pillow.

“Holy cupcakes,” said Waverly, warmly, “how do you even _do_ that.”

“Do what?” said Nicole.

“Keep going on and on and on like that. I didn’t even know it was possible,” said Waverly. Nicole just chuckled, and extracted herself as gently as she knew how. Waverly sighed, asking, “Is that your left hand, baby?” and Nicole realised that yes, it was.

“Well, my other hand was in the food, so.” Nicole trailed off.

Waverly’s chuckle grew to a full throated laugh. “God. You’re even polite when you are fucking me senseless. How’re you so perfect.” She looked up at Nicole, her face aglow with so much sated beauty that it took Nicole’s breath away, all over again. “Ugh, I need to move.”

Nicole had struggled back to her feet, was standing there swaying. She reached down to clasp Waverly’s hand. “Here, let me help you.” The two of them got Waverly up to sitting without too much trouble, and Nicole was beginning to feel more steady. “Shower?” she asked. “We did get kind of messy.”

“Give me a little more time,” replied Waverly, running hands over Nicole's body, but softly, any urgency quieted for now. “I’m still starving, though. Your tantric poutine brunch did me in. I really do need to eat something more.”

“I’m not surprised, I think you were using a lot of energy with … that,” said Nicole, with a small laugh. “What would you like? I’ll make you whatever you want.”

Waverly smiled that perfect sunny smile up at her, and Nicole knew it was true, down to her bones. Whatever Waverly wanted, Nicole would do whatever she could do to get. Always.

**Author's Note:**

> I love these characters so much.
> 
> Enjoy some WayHaught Brunch a.k.a. some no-plot sexytime, based on Nicole's awesome fanfic reputation between the sheets, the "brunch" running gag from ClexaCon2018, and love of poutine.
> 
> Leave a comment or kudo if you like the story!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter at @boo_in_la.


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